But nothing in my life prepared me for what happened on a Tuesday afternoon in September.
There’s a girl in our neighborhood. Lily. She’s seven. Her mama works doubles at the truck stop off Route 9 and leaves her with her stepdad most nights.
Lily started showing up at our shop after school. At first we thought she just liked the bikes. She’d sit on an old milk crate and watch us work. Barely talked. Barely smiled.
Then one day my wife noticed something. Lily never took her jacket off. Not even when it was 95 degrees outside.
My wife walked over. Knelt down. Said real soft, “Sweetheart, aren’t you hot?”
Lily looked at her and pulled her sleeve up about two inches.
My wife came to me white as a sheet. Couldn’t even talk. Just grabbed my arm and squeezed.
